


That Good Ol' Mountain Dew

by Todesengel



Series: Mag7 Bingo [12]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, she had a knack for distilling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Good Ol' Mountain Dew

The still had been James' baby, back when he'd been alive. He'd come from a long line of Whiskey men – his granddaddy'd even started his own distillery, back in Kentucky – and building and tending the still had given him a nice bit of comfort, way out here in the wilderness. Nettie'd mostly left him to it, and had gotten on with the farming and the ranching and the raisin' of their kids. And then James had up and died of the flux, and she hadn't thought a thing about his moonshine 'til old Joe Wattley, who'd owned the saloon back before he'd died of the pox and it'd gone to Isaac Hampton (who'd never been able to tell a six from an eight, and especially never learned not to gamble with the MacLaren clan who only played for ready cash or ready bullets), had come by askin' for the last delivery James had owed him. She'd been in a right tizzy, not the least 'cause she didn't have the twenty dollars Joe said he'd paid James, and even if she did she wouldn't have given it to a whoremonger like Joe Wattley – 'specially not when she had her baby niece to take care of – and hadn't the foggiest idea of what she needed to do. Oh James had rambled on at her 'bout the whole distillin' thing, but she'd mostly let his words pass right on through her head, too busy doin' the books to worry 'bout his little hobby. 

Fortunately for her, she'd always had a brain that listened, even when the rest of her wasn't. 

Even more fortunately, it turned out she had a knack for the distillin' – least that's what she assumed old Joe meant when he said her hooch could knock a man flat on his ass in less than two steps. 

So she kept at it, though not nearly as diligently as James had done. Just, when she had some old corn, maybe, or an excess of apples, or more barley then she knew what to do with, she'd make a corn mash, or an apple mash, or a barley mash, or a mix of them, and throw the lot in the still and set it all a-goin'. Made some right interestin' brews, in her time, and it was always nice to have a few extra dollars to put under her mattress. 

'Course, she'd had to tell Casey the stuff in the still was poison, when the girl was younger. A glass of beer with dinner was fine and proper, but whiskey was the devil's drink, and what came out of her still was sometimes somethin' that even the devil wouldn't touch; though the menfolk in town liked it well enough. And that was all fine and dandy up 'til the day that Casey caught that nice young Tanner boy takin' a swallow of her latest batch. 

Afterwards – after Nettie had rescued Vin from Casey's good intentioned but unnecessary clutches, and cleaned up the glass from the broken still, and sent Casey off to town with a note for that doctor fella – Vin had cast a sly, sideways glance at Nettie, one that said an awful lot more than a man in his position ought to be sayin'. Nettie had swatted him on the shoulder and almost didn't pour out the glass of her best, aged brew she'd promised him – the one that could only be served in wood cups since it ate right through metal. 

"You just keep them thoughts to yourself, young man," she told him, severely, though there was a smile hovering in the wings, just waitin' for a chance. Lord, lord, how the young man reminded her of her boy Henry, the one that'd died of the flux with her James. 

"Ain't said a word," Vin said back. He took a slow, small sip of her brew, and coughed as the alcohol evaporated in the heat of his mouth, and very loudly didn't ask why Casey didn't know what the still was really for.

"Now never you mind that, Vin," Nettie said, though he was right of course. Time had long since passed since she should've told Casey the truth 'bout the still. Girl was smart enough, now, to not go pokin' round in it and drinkin' what it made – and if she weren't, then she would be after she woke up with a sore head and a queasy stomach. Still, she'd been lyin' so long it was second nature now, and anyway it weren't Vin Tanner nor anybody else's place to pass judgment on how she raised her niece. Vin got her dander up, sometimes, like Henry had – like James had too, on occasion. "I still got room on my old Spencer for one more notch. And since you boys run off Top Hat Bob 'fore I could shoot him, I reckon you'll do just as well."

Vin smiled at her with the corners of his eyes. "Ain't saying a word," he said again.

Nettie sniffed, and let the smile that had threatened finally come through.


End file.
